Something Involving Ice
by Backroads
Summary: Where did Edward get all that ice, anyway?


_Just utter randomness that makes no sense whatsoever. Sorry. But it was fun for me to write._

* * *

The room was eerily silent save for the steady ticking of the clock, and the snowfall outside had escalated into a near storm with the fluffy white flakes swirling through the air. The little girl solemnly watched the snow, her mind still taking in what her grandmother had just told her. All she had done was ask a single question, and it had been answered. Oh, it had been answered. Such a sad story, so moving. And-- her eyes turned to he grandmother, still sitting at the bedside lost in torrents of memories—terribly true. But still a fairy tale, the most spectacular ever told.

She had asked her questions, the little girl had. Was Edward still alive? Was he still up there? And, yes, they had been answered.

But one question still remained, one that weighed more heavily upon her heart than the rest. Her grandmother had already relived so much that night already. But one more question couldn't hurt, not one so important.

The little girl sat up in her bed, somewhat freeing herself from the cozy shelter of blankets. "Grandma?"

Her grandmother looked up, eyes bright and wet with tears. "Yes, sweetie?"

"You think he's still up there, carving ice sculptures, making it snow?"

"Yes..." Her voice slid forward, waiting.

The girl couldn't speak for a moment, not when her heart was racing as it did. But, slowly, painfully, she forced her thoughts into a question.

Her grandmother patiently nodded.

"Where does he get the ice?"

All the old woman could do was stare.

* * *

Bob couldn't figure out why the old place wasn't just torn down. Condemned, and the clearly mad whoever-lived-there thrown out. Didn't the town have some sort of zoning ordinance against such things? Then again, didn't the town have a zoning ordinance against a green-and-orange striped house in the middle of Easter Pastel-ville? He couldn't help but stare at the entire neighborhood in disgust as he drove through. Well, it wasn't up to him to complain. First day on the job, already suffering "the route" that was apparently assigned to every newcomer until they either went crazy (which wasn't so bad, considering the psychiatric health care benefits) or held their own and proved themselves worthy of a saner route. Though sanity had to be relative when one worked for Ice Man Joe's Icery. And yet that neighborhood left much to be desired.

Well, as long as he made the delivery, what could go wrong? Fingers skimming the steering wheel, he pulled into his destination. He studied it for a long time, wondering what sort of person would live there. But no complaining. It wasn't his place to analyze every customer. But the garden. . . he couldn't help but shake his head over that. With a sigh, he climbed from the truck and pulled the ice from the back. Then, cautiously, he made his way to the door.

Bob was barely at the front steps when the door was flung open. He screamed.

"My ice?"

Remembering his manners, Bob nodded. He shouldn't ask questions. He shouldn't ask questions.

The man threw back his head and cackled. Then, utterly calm, he stared at Bob. "Well? Bring it in!"

Still dazed, Bob wheeled the cart with the ice block inside, forcing himself not to look at his surroundings.

"You can put it there." The man nodded at section of floor already prepped to handle the ice.

Bob was staring again. It was just as rude as the question that ran through his mind. Probably ruder.

So he asked the question.

"May I ask--?"

Or at least he began to.

The man studied Bob's face, then smiled. "You want to know why I'm wearing a grass skirt and coral pink nail polish?"

Bob, relieved, nodded. "If you don't mind telling."

Ice Man Joe's Icery long-time customer Lawrence Gelmingstotter laughed. A real laugh, mind you, not a cackle. "Not at all. I lost a bet."

"Oh." That explained everything. "Pretty sad punishment."

"Nah. Really brings the customers to the shaved ice shack. Don't have to deal with the flamingos anymore, which is why they're out in the garden. So... " Lawrence whipped out his check book. "How much do I owe for this delivery?"

"Actually, this is your free one. For every fifteen blocks of ice you order, you get a free one."

"Free?" Lawrence did a little dance in his grass skirt. Which wasn't very nice to watch. So Bob shut his eyes until the traditional I-got-free-ice dance was complete. "Does the guy on the hill know about the free ice deal?"

"Please don't dance again." No wonder everyone went insane on this route.

"Sorry. But... does he?"

"Erm..." Bob glanced out the window at the mansion on the hill. "I don't think we deliver there."

"You don't? Then... where does the ice come from?"

The lights flickered in a considerably eerie fashion.

"Dang electricity," muttered Lawrence.

"What ice?" asked Bob.

Suddenly, Lawrence uttered a low moan, and his eyes widened to near-chaotic intensity. "The ice! The ice in the house! I was sure you guys delivered there as well, but... " He began to shake.

Bob wondered if the dude was going to have a seizure. He didn't know first aid, so he figured that if a seizure were the case, it might be best to quickly leave.

"It all makes perfect sense!" Lawrence cried, falling to his knees. "Thievery! Thievery occurs in this neighborhood! It's all a plot to put out my shaved ice business! Oh, they SAY it's snow, but why do they think I always wind up with bottle upon bottle of tropical punch and berry-spectacular artificial flavorings at the end of every season? No ice! All my free ice gets taken! He takes it! He steals my hard-earned ice... "

"You just got this one free."

"Well, the ones I actually pay for. So I don't have any ice for popular frozen shaved ice treats to sell during hot summer days."

Bob stared again. "When the ice melts? How could anyone steal it and drag it up that big hill?"

Lawrence actually snarled. "It happens."

"Okay," Bob said quickly. During Lawrence's rant, the ice delivery man had managed to inch toward the front door. The flamingo-filled garden was in sight, and his truck just past that. "I'll be leaving now. See you next month." Then, with break-neck speed, he ran toward his truck (after tripping over a flamingo).

But another surprise awaited him there. Half a dozen neighbor kids, armed with towels, were pulling chucks of ice from the back of the truck. They stared at Bob. He stared back at them, barely registering. Were these the brats that stole Lawrence's ice?

"Um," began one girl. "We're just testing the ice."

Her friends nodded.

"Testing?" Bob echoed. "I don't think so. Now you put that ice back or I'll—"

"See ya!" The kids ran off, ice chunks rapped in towels. "We're off to do some ice blocking!"

Bob wasn't exactly in shape, and, after the Lawrence experience, didn't have the will to go after the kids. He shook his fist and shouted some curses, then climbed into the back of the truck to see exactly how much had been taken.

That's when the door slammed shut.

Bob gasped and pounded against the chill metal, but it was locked. He stared into the darkness, scarcely believing. Then, to his even greater horror, the truck started with sudden acceleration. He was thrown into the remaining ice, the edges bruising his flesh.

"I'm gonna get my ice back!" screamed the voice of Lawrence. "And you're going to help me!"

A psycho was driving the truck. Bob was going to die. On his first day. But... there had to be something he could do. Tools were always kept in the back of the truck. Quickly he found them, then set at the door. Good thing Ice Man Joe didn't put a lot of money into the locking mechanisms. It wasn't long before the door slid open.

The truck was in motion, swerving madly up a dirt road. Taking a deep breath, Bob jumped. For a moment the world spun, but Bob landed safely in the bushes. He climbed to his feet and watched as the truck jerked to a stop. Lawrence leaped from the driver's seat, eyes glowing. Behind him loomed the mansion.

"You're getting my ice back for me!"

"But... " Bob held the ice pick before him. "But are you so sure that your ice was taken?"

"Er..." Lawrence paused to consider that. "Well, no one has actually ever taken my ice, but if they did. . . it'd be him." He pointed at the mansion. Then he blinked, sighed, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said in a utterly normal voice. "I skipped my medication today. Don't know what came over me."

Well, skipping medication could do that to someone. "That's okay." Bob lowered his weapon. "At least my first day was interesting."

"Free shaved ice cones any time you want?" Lawrence offered.

"Sounds great. Thanks."

It might have been the beginning of a beautiful friendship, if at that moment the ice blocking kids hadn't slammed fatally into them. Don't worry, the kids were fine. They were wearing protective gear, which is always a smart idea if you're ice blocking down a big hill.

Reaching the bottom, the kids laughed. "First one we managed to kill, " one said happily. "And now, we can make shaved ice any time we want!"

The kids all cackled and ran to the truck.

But the ice had mysteriously vanished. And that's all anyone knew.

* * *

The old woman settled back in the chair, again lost in thought.

The little girl slowly sifted the new information through her mind. "Grandma?" she asked innocently.

"Yes?"

"How did he move all that ice from the truck to the top floor of the mansion?"

"Well. . . I suppose it begins with elevators. . . ."

_**The End!**_


End file.
